Of Dragons and Rocks
by Libri Girl
Summary: Your typical ugly-bookish-girl-has-an-unexpected-surprise, meets-hot-blonde-boy-and-gets-hitched story. Hogwarts style with Death eaters, Dramione, and jerks.


Chapter 1: When Hats Pull the Strings of Fate

As Hermione entered _Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, she heard a cold, cocky drawl and another voice, slightly shyer yet still assertive. Hermione nearly snorted at her oxymoron-like description. The counter was unoccupied, so Hermione pondered how someone could possibly be shy and assertive and the same time. She drew the conclusion that she _was_ only eleven and there _was_ still much of the world she hadn't seen.

"…were _our_ kind, weren't they?" asked the cold voice. There was a mumbled reply. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" Hermione blinked in rage. The nerve of this boy! "They're just not the same," the boy continued, "they've never been brought up to know our ways." The boy prattled on as Hermione edged around the racks of robes until she could see the speaker.

There were two boys. One was short, skinny, and awkward looking, with messy, jet-black hair and, she thought, Sellotaped glasses (_Why_, she thought, _don't his parents just mend them for him? They're obviously magical if this other boy is still speaking to him_). She couldn't see his face. The other boy, the one speaking so foully about her 'sort', was tall and pale, with platinum blonde hair and emerald green eyes. He was strikingly handsome, and if she hadn't heard him badmouthing Muggle-borns she would probably have swooned on the spot. He, she decided, was most _certainly_ a pureblood (she'd bought herself a book on the ways of wizards to educate herself, and there had been a _whole chapter_ on blood supremacy, not to mention a list of all the pureblood families still alive by the 1950s).

"That's you done, my dear," a short, kindly old woman with frizzy grey hair told the boy with the black hair. He walked towards the doorway and left. The pureblood boy just stood there with his arms outstretched, measuring tapes twirling and needles flashing. Hermione slipped towards the door and left before either the short woman or the boy could see her.

"I'm going to be fine, Mum," Hermione told her mother for what had to be the _billionth_ time. "I'll finally learn how to control my magic and… maybe I'll make some friends!" She smiled at her mother, who replied, "We need to get that overbite looked at, dear, won't you just try braces? And your hair must be…" Her mother rambled off a list of things she needed to change about her daughter, putting Hermione in a sullen mood as their little grey car rumbled off to King's Cross Station.

"Well, it's not very good, is it?" Hermione smiled a snarky little smile and turned on her heel, bushy hair flying. She didn't even bother to stay and ask their names. Boy, did it feel _good_ to vent her frustration on those two idiots.

"What a nightmare," she heard the red-haired one whisper to his friend.

"No kidding," replied the black-haired boy from _Madam Malkin's_. She sniffed a little and, eyes stinging slightly, pranced down the hall to her empty compartment where people tried to come in, saw her (alone and friendless), and left. But she didn't care.

Not one.

Little.

Bit.

_Maybe I lied to you, Mum. Just a bit._

"Granger, Hermione!" called the severe-looking witch in the emerald-green robes. Hermione, taking a deep breath, took shaking steps up to the stool upon which sat the mystical Sorting Hat. A hat that could both sing (albeit badly) and direct someone's future.

To be honest, it seemed a little unfair to have a _hat_ in charge of her life.

"Yes, yes," murmured the hat. Well, this was a first. "A sharp mind… a good dash of loyalty, too, but not so much of this… can be quite nasty, too, a lone wolf, yet a sprinkling of courage… cunning, yes, but not always _cunning_, exactly, sometimes just rational thinking… likes to break out of the mould, yes, but has troubles with acceptance… ambition, I see, and a thirst to prove a Muggle-born worthy, but no sense of justice-" 

"Hey!" said Hermione.

"- backchat, too, not always a bad trait… ooh, this _could_ be interesting… better be… SLYTHERIN!"

Hermione sat there for a second and asked the hat to repeat itself. It said the same. Holding back tears, she walked shakily to the Slytherin table. Someone booed her. The Slytherin table clapped, Hufflepuff joining in half-heartedly. She heard the red-headed boy murmur, "And good riddance, too!" She started to sob and composed herself. This was her house. She should make the most of it. Hermione walked forward and took her place between two first-year boys who had been sorted earlier; Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, she thought. One (Vincent?) patted her on the back and the other smiled reassuringly at her. She smiled weakly back. An older boy leaned over and, in a comforting voice, said, "Don't worry – it gets better." She thanked him and sat hunched over the table.

She barely paid attention to the rest of the Sorting. When the blonde pureblood boy's name was called – "Malfoy, Draco," said the severe witch, who had looked haughtily at Hermione the one time she'd dared to look at her – he walked to the stool with a smirk. Sure enough, as soon as the Hat touched his head, it cried out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco Malfoy had sat next to one of the boys she was wedged between (Gregory?) and struck up a conversation – mainly about blood supremacy.

Just her luck.

**A/N: Hi guys, I realise the Hermione-is-sorted-into-Slytherin, falls-for-Malfoy story is way overdone (not to say there aren't good fics out there! You should check out Colubrina's Green Girl – great story!) but I like the idea and really wanted to write my own. Updates will probably be very slow, especially now that school's back (urrgh). Anyways, thanks for giving my probably crappy story a chance. I hope you stick around.**


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